


Breaking and Entering

by Stakebait



Series: Uncovered and other stories [9]
Category: White Collar
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-19
Updated: 2017-02-19
Packaged: 2018-09-25 14:33:42
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,491
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9824759
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Stakebait/pseuds/Stakebait
Summary: When Elizabeth goes away, Neal gives Peter what he asked for in Hard Choices.





	

“You're not asleep,” Neal observed.

“What was your first clue?” Peter asked, on a laugh. He was sitting up in bed in his darkened bedroom, studying Neal's approach.

“Probably the night vision goggles,” Neal replied. “Does this mean I lose? Are you going to punish me now?” If so, Neal was vaguely disappointed that Peter hadn't chosen to catch him, literally, in the act of breaking into his suddenly wildly overprotected house, but otherwise he had no complaints. At all.

“Doesn't seem fair,” Peter replied, which wasn't exactly an answer. “Considering I never went to sleep in the first place. I wanted to watch you.”

He took off the goggles, cuing Neal to do the same with his own before Peter turned on a light and blinded him.

“Did you like what you saw?” Neal asked.

“Fuck, yes. You're beautiful like that.” The goggles had been a shame, obscuring Neal's chiseled features, but the clinging black outfit more than made up for it, not to mention seeing him bend sinuously around the lasers—which, Peter admitted, he had installed for just that purpose. He'd wanted to see Neal do that ever since the goddamned movie came out, even if he hadn't admitted to himself why. That and the absolute confidence, and when he bit his lower lip in concentration.... It was a revelation to see Neal in his element. 

Peter was all the more amazed that Neal had given this up for him. This, and the ring, and the treasure, and (maybe) Kate... in retrospect, Peter shouldn't be so surprised that Neal wanted to give him his orgasms, too. Neal had been giving shit up for Peter for a long, long time. That he got off on it on some strange level was probably the only reason they worked at all.

Neal pounced on Peter and pinned him to the bed by his shoulders. “Stop it,” he announced. “I don't know what you're worrying about, but you're thinking too much and this is Not. The. Time.” He straddled Peter's hips over the covers so Peter could feel his erection through his skin tight black pants. 

“Last chance. If you're not going to punish me, then I'm going to take what I came for,” he quoted Peter back to himself.

Big, macho Peter Burke whimpered. “Please, Neal,” he said.

Unlike Peter, Neal didn't make him work for it, make him specify what he wanted. He rose up enough to strip back the covers and was surprised to find Peter completely naked underneath. 

“I guess,” he said, “you were pretty sure I would beat the alarms.”

“You always do,” said Peter fondly.

Neal reached for the wrist of one of his thin, black gloves, to pull it off. 

“Don't,” said Peter hoarsely. “Please.”

Neal gave a predatory smile. “Like that, huh? All right. No fingerprints. I'll just have to leave my mark some other way.”

Peter had no idea what Neal even meant by that but fuck, it was hot. At this exact moment Peter was equally up for a hickey like a teenager, a splatter of cum across his face, or a giant tattoo of a Neal Caffrey original across his shoulders—although Elle might want to weigh in on the last.

Without being asked, Peter rolled over underneath Caffrey and raised his hips, wordlessly presenting his bare ass. For all his skillful fingers, in bed, Caffrey usually led with his mouth. And Peter usually loved it, but he wasn't in the mood for foreplay tonight. He didn't want to kiss. He didn't even want a blow job. He'd been jerking off to this moment for weeks, he'd been watching Caffrey penetrate his defenses for hours—or at least it felt like it—and he wanted Caffrey to just fuck him already, right now.

Neal had never been slow to take a hint. He nudged Peter's knees apart, positioning himself between them, and slid one latex-gloved finger up from Peter's balls to his asshole. He reached for the lube—secreted where he normally kept WD-40 in this getup, for creaking doors—only to find Peter was already slick and dripping with it.

“Fuck, Peter, you're all ready for me. You must really want this.”

“You have no idea,” Peter's voice was hoarse.

“So why wait so long to ask?” Neal's voice was teasing, but also curious, as he slid one finger inside of Peter at last. 

It wasn't enough, not nearly, but it was finally some part of Neal inside him, and Peter pushed back against it, trying to take it deeper. 

“It's your fault!” Peter explained indignantly. “It took me—weeks—to work up—to taking something—as big as your cock,” he added, around the indrawn breaths as Neal began to thrust, and added a second finger.

Neal groaned, and Peter heard the sound of a zipper and deduced that Neal was touching himself in time with his thrusts. It hadn't escaped Peter's attention that nothing got Neal hotter than Peter doing his homework. It was amazing, really, that they got anything done in the office at all.

“More?” he asked Neal plaintively, pushing back a little harder..

“No,” said Neal firmly. “You're rushing. It still hurts, I can tell. Relax. My cock isn't going anywhere.”

“That,” said Peter petulantly, “is the problem.”

“Damn, you're greedy,” Neal said wonderingly. “I never expected this side of you.”

“That I would bottom for you?”

“That you would be so pushy about it! Relax, Peter, or I swear to god, I'm going to stop right here and just jerk off.”

Grudgingly, Peter stopped trying to force himself back onto Neal's hand. “Fine. I'm relaxed.”

Neal laughed. “Never try to fool a polygraph, Burke.” 

Neal must have abandoned touching his own cock because his two fingers were still gently working inside Peter and yet Peter could feel more fingers caressing his balls and the sensitive skin behind them, before moving up to stroke his cock—the latex gloves, slick with lube, felt alien and amazing on his overheated skin. 

Peter loved the idea of Neal coming in here as if Peter had never caught him and just taking what he wanted from Peter, invading every inch of him and revealing nothing of himself. He could have, any time he wanted—the birthday cards proved he knew Peter's home address, and Neal had just demonstrated that the alarm system was far from unbeatable.

When Peter started to move his hips again, not sure himself if he was thrusting into Neal's fist or back onto his fingers, Neal didn't stop him this time. “Yeah, Peter,” he murmured softly. “Come on. Fuck yourself for me. You want another one?”

“Yesssss,” Peter hissed, resisting the urge to point out that he'd been asking for it for approximately ever already. He couldn't help a sharp intake of breath when Neal wedged the third finger in, and almost wriggled with impatience when that caused Neal to stop.

But Neal, goddamn him, was right, because after a small eternity of waiting with Neal's three fingers motionless inside him, Peter could feel everything let go and suddenly he didn't have to try any more. 

“Neal? Now?” The rising intonation of Peter's voice was perilously close to a whine. He was having trouble finding words, but that was okay because the sound of a tearing foil packet behind him told him he was finally, finally going to get what he...holy _fuck_. 

Neal's cock slowly entering him was nothing like his fingers, nothing like his tongue, nothing like a dildo, nothing like anything Peter had ever experienced before in his life. Even through the condom he was warm and soft and hard and perfectly shaped and moving so, so slowly and gently that Peter thought he might explode.

Neal reached around to stroke Peter's cock and Peter lost whatever limited patience he once possessed. “Don't,” he said.

“Why?” Neal asked. “Too close?” 

“No—well, maybe,” Peter admitted. “But that's not it. I don't care if you make me come as long as you don't _stop._ Caffrey, stop being gentle with me. Are you a fucking thief or what? If you want it, _take_ it.”

Neal groaned, and grabbed Peter's hips, and drove in hard. Involuntarily Peter arched up off the bed. “Oh yeah,” he panted. “Just like that.”

Neal thrust into him three more times, hitting the prostate, making Peter understand once and for all what the big deal was and why, beyond sheer symbolism, it was unquestionably worth it.

And then he stopped. And flipped Peter over. Peter had forgotten, again, how much strength was hidden inside that deceptively slim frame.

Neal spread Peter's legs again, kneeling between them, and as he slid his cock back into Peter in this new position. Peter could have cried with relief.

And then he froze. Caffrey had one of his black gloved hands on Peter's throat, not cutting off his breath, but making it clear that he could, if he felt like it.

“Careful, Burke,” Neal said in a low, harsh voice. “Be careful what you wish for. Because if I take what I want—I want it all. Not just that hot, tight, virgin ass that's gripping my cock so hard. I want your mouth—” And Neal leaned in to take a kiss that made Peter understand, for the first time, why Elle's romance novels sometimes described them as “punishing”—it was all hard lips and invading tongue and gave no quarter back. 

“I want those strong hands that are always touching me—” he let go of Peter's throat to take Peter's hands and put them on his own, black clad hips. 

“I want your cock,” he said, filling his palm with more lube before sliding it down between them around Peter's erection. “If you want me to take what I want—I want you,” he growled.

Neal splayed his other hand on Peter's chest for balance and Peter just had time to admire the contrast of the glove against his skin before Neal was fucking him hard and looking deep into his eyes and stroking his cock and Peter was coming like a fucking geyser all over Neal's hand and his own stomach.

Neal held him through the aftershocks and Peter could feel him, still hard, still deep inside him. Peter took a deep breath. He was going to have to relax all over again, he could tell—somewhere in the throes of orgasm, he'd clamped down.

Thank god Neal was the patient one. “Don't pull out,” Peter said. “Please. I want you to come inside me.”

“I'm not going anywhere,” Neal promised. “Clean me up,” and he pushed his gloved fingers into Peter's mouth to lick clean of his own cum. Peter sucked them eagerly, as if they were Neal's cock. They weren't the ones that had been inside him. Peter wasn't sure if he was relieved, or disappointed.

Neal rolled over on his back, pulling Peter on top of him and gripping his wrists together. “I want you to ride me,” he said.

“You've been thinking about this ever since you saw me on that horse, haven't you,” said Peter.

“A good con admits nothing,” Neal grinned. “Like you always say, cowboy up.”

The play of muscle in Peter's thighs as he straddled Neal's hips was every bit as glorious as the view through his jeans had promised all those months ago. Not that Neal hadn't seen them naked on many occasions since, but never quite like this. 

Peter had his concentration face on, like he was solving a difficult puzzle or staring at a column of figures that didn't add up. Reluctantly Neal released his wrists to let Peter catch his balance on the headboard. 

He folded his own hands behind his head, the picture of smug relaxation, and smirked up at Peter. It was a struggle not to touch Peter, but he had a hunch this would fit better with Peter's fantasy of Neal the unrepentant taking purely his own pleasure, and a sudden indrawn breath told him he was right.

Or maybe Peter had just finally found the right angle, because he shuddered around Neal's cock and Neal damned near lost it there and then. Fuck, Peter was tight. Peter was working his hips, biting his lip while he rode Neal's cock in little elliptical orbits, and whimpering whenever that meant Neal hit the sweet spot. He was barely half-hard again, but he still seemed to be enjoying himself.

Not all the sangfroid in the world could keep Neal from bucking his hips up to get just a little deeper. Peter gave his sweet, triumphant, boyish smile. “Is this what you came for, Caffrey?” he asked. 

He let go of the headboard, deliberately stroking his own balls with one hand and tweaking one nipple with the other – putting on a show for Neal.

“Yes,” Neal groaned. He sat up abruptly, so that Peter had to wrap his legs around Neal's waist and hang onto his shoulders not to fall over backwards. Neal kissed Peter hard, gripped Peter's hips with both hands to drive just that fraction of an inch deeper, and came.

Neal fell back onto the pillows, his heart pounding. His burglar gear was definitely going to need laundering after this. Hard to make an unobtrusive entrance stinking of sweat and sex, especially if there were guard dogs on the premises.

Peter gingerly swung his leg back over and collapsed next to Neal on the bed. Reluctant as he was to move, Neal summoned the will to slide the remains of the condom off. Dipping one gloved finger delicately inside, he traced the letter N in cum on one cheek of Peter's ass and, renewing his supply, C on the other.

“That tickles,” said Peter. “Do I even want to know what you're doing?”

“I told you years ago,” said Neal. “I always sign my work, even if no one can see it.”

Neal got up to dispose of the condom in the trash and looked down at Peter, prone and halfway to sleep on top of the coverlet. “Can I take this off now?” he said. “It's hot as hell in here.”

Peter opened one eye. “Yes, as long as you come back to bed.”

“As soon as I turn the lasers off,” Neal promised. The last thing they needed was Satchmo setting off the alarm. Peter's only answer was a snore.

If Neal really had done this back in the old days, he should have been sneaking out now, before Burke could wake and repent his momentary madness. Finally naked—except for the anklet that would have ruined Peter's fantasy—climbing into bed and manhandling Peter's sleeping form into something that approximated under the covers, Neal conceded silently that it was a good thing he'd waited. Burke was a hard man to leave. And at least this way he wouldn't be arrested in the morning.

**Author's Note:**

> As always, thank you to Dotfic for beta reading. If you like the ending, it's her fault. (If you don't, it's mine.)
> 
> White Collar was created by Jeff Eastin and aired on the USA Network. No profit has been or will be generated by this transformative work.


End file.
